Old Friends and Old Enemies
by JantoJones
Summary: Mr Waverly responds to a call for help from an old friend.


As they were led between the desks in the main office of Locke Electronics, by Fiona Richards, Illya squinted at the glare from the walls.

"Who on Earth thought orange was a good colour for office space?" he complained.

The chosen shade hardly seemed conducive to any sort of concentration and it felt, to him, as though they were walking through a tangerine. Although Waverly agreed with the sentiment, he didn't say so.

"We aren't here to critique the décor, Mr Kuryakin."

Chastised, Illya fell silent. Miss Richards showed the two men into the opulent office of Jacob Locke.

"If you would care to wait in here gentlemen, Mr Locke will be with you presently."

Mr Waverly made himself comfortable on one of the two black leather armchairs, which were in the middle of the space. Illya made a surreptitious sweep of the office for bugs and cameras. Anyone watching would simply see a man inspecting and admiring the various artworks which were dotted around. He found nothing obvious, but couldn't risk performing a more comprehensive search.

It was another ten minutes before Locke finally joined them.

"Gentlemen, sorry to keep you waiting," Locke announced as he entered. "The curse of being the boss means you're always in demand."

Waverly stood up and held his hand out to Locke.

"I understand perfectly, Jacob," he stated to the elderly man. "It's wonderful to see you again my old friend. May I introduce one of my best agents, Illya Kuryakin?"

The Russian moved forward to shake the man's hand, before moving back again; taking up a protective stance behind his boss.

"Please relax young man," Locke told him. "Take a seat both of you and I'll get us all a drink."

Despite the invite, Illya opted to remain standing. He'd never met Jacob Locke before, but there was something about his demeanour which put him on edge. The man seemed to be hiding something. Waverly sat back down.

"How are Jenny, and young Oliver?" he asked, as he accepted the drink being handed to him. "The boy must be about ten now."

Locke handed Illya his drink before sitting down opposite Waverly.

"Ollie is twelve," he corrected, before raising his glass in a toast. "Friends and family."

The chief and his agent echoed the toast and dutifully took a drink.

"What's going on Jacob?" Waverly queried. "What has you so afraid that you insisted I come personally?"

Behind Mr Waverly, Illya was becoming alarmed. He was beginning to feel strangely groggy, and was sure he'd just been poisoned. His concern for himself, however, took second place to that of the man he was guarding. Looking to Waverly, the older man appeared to be perfectly fine. Shaking his head as he felt his grip on consciousness slipping away, Illya fumbled his special from its holster, but a numbness in his fingers meant it clattered harmlessly to the floor. Waverly twisted round in time to see the Russian drop to his knees.

"Mr Kuryakin?"

"S . . . Sir, are you . . .?

Illya pitched forward as the darkness took him. The Old Man turned back to his friend, who was pointing a pistol and wearing an expression of absolute terror.

"What is this about, Jacob?" Waverly asked calmly.

"I'm sorry, Alex. They have my family."

"Who do?"

The door opened to allow the entrance of Victor Marton, followed by three heavily armed guards.

"Good morning, Alexander," Marton greeted his old enemy. "I'm sorry we had to incapacitate your man, but don't worry, he's only sleeping. We will need him later to test a lovely new device, before we use it on you."

"You will get nothing from me Victor," Waverly replied. "Better people than you have tried."

Marton smiled, knowing that Waverly would be powerless against the device. They didn't really need to test it first, as it already had been. He simply wanted to demonstrate its power to Waverly, and Kuryakin was the ideal demonstration subject. He ordered two of his guards to pick up the unconscious Russian.

"Shall we all repair to the basement?"

….

Illya awoke to an uncomfortable feeling of confinement. Opening his eyes, he found himself facing Mr Waverly, who was tied to a chair a few feet in front of him. He tried to turn his head and quickly discovered why he felt confined. The agent had been strapped to a chair, with thick leather bands which held his ankles, knees, chest, elbows, neck and head securely to the wood.

"What happened, Sir?"

"We are being held by Victor Marton," Waverly replied.

"I apologise for my failure in duty."

"These things happen, young man," the chief assured him.

"How sweet," came the voice of Marton from behind Illya. "You are too soft with your people Alexander. Failure to protect the boss is punished severely under my regime."

"I have no need to frighten loyalty into my people, Victor"

Marton waved his hand in dismissive gesture and called to Jacob, who was waiting in the corner. The poor man was the picture of misery, as he offered Waverly an apologetic glance. Victor put a hand on Jacob's shoulder and guided him over to stand next to Waverly.

"Let us see just how loyal your Soviet is shall we?"

He gestured to one of the guards, who pushed a large piece of machinery towards the group. It was positioned to the side of Illya and looked, to Waverly, like some sort of laser firing device. He tried not to let his dread show on his face. Illya himself attempted to twist his head to see the thing, but he was too well secured.

"Thanks to the access Mr Locke has given to us to his factory, he were able to complete this wonderful project ahead of schedule," Marton enthused. "Naturally, we choose him because of his connection to you. We knew you wouldn't be able to ignore a plea from an old friend. Now let me show you what my new toy does."

He flicked a switch on the side of the device and Illya immediately felt an odd sensation inside his head. He wouldn't have described it as painful; more like an unreachable itch in the centre of his brain.

"What is your full name?" Marton questioned.

"Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin."

The agent frowned with consternation. The words had left his mouth before he could even think of stopping them.

"And the names of your parents?"

"Nickolai Markovitch Kuryakin and Kira Illyinichna Kuryakina."

"Place of birth?"

"Gogoliv.*"

Illya's eyes widened with dreadful surprise. He often thought about his childhood home, but he hadn't uttered its name for a long, long time. Most people who asked were usually told he was born in Kiev. Waverly saw the fear on the young man's face. He knew Kuryakin was extremely covetous of his past and he also knew he could withstand terrible torture and still retain his secrets. For the first time since this situation began, Waverly began to feel genuinely afraid. Not for his own safety, or even that of Illya, but for the world. Both of them held information which, if discovered by THRUSH, would hand the Earth over to the evil hierarchy.

"What do you think, Alexander?" Marton queried. "With this I can extract the truth without trying. I have no idea how it works exactly, but I've been told it beams an electronic pulse and renders the subject unable to lie, or hold back the information I've asked for."

"You will get nothing more from me," Illya snarled, as he pulled against the leather straps.

"Really? Tell me, are you loyal to U.N.C.L.E.?"

"Yes."

"What about Moscow? Are you loyal to them? Would you steal secrets for them?"

"I am loyal to Russia, but I would not betray U.N.C.L.E."

Waverly allowed himself a brief smile at Illya's words. He had never doubted Kuryakin's loyalty, but it was good to hear a confirmation. As much as Marton wanted to discover how Kuryakin reconciled his divided loyalties, he couldn't waste time on it. There were other, more important, things to be learned.

"As fun as this is, we need to get onto more serious matters."

Before he could ask any further questions, he was interrupted by Locke's secretary, Miss Richards. Upon seeing the set-up, she began to scream, and didn't stop until one of the guards pointed a gun in her direction.

"What do you want?" Marton demanded. "We're quite busy here."

"Mr Locke has a visitor," Miss Richards spewed out. "A Mr Singleton. He's waiting in the office."

Victor tried to bite back his frustration.

"Get over there and keep quiet," he ordered. Locke, go and get rid of this man."

….

Napoleon Solo strode into the reception area of Locke Electronics with the confidence and swagger of the salesman he was pretending to be. He offered the young red-head behind the desk his most dazzling smile and handed over the business card of 'Nathanial Singleton, CEO of Singleton Conductive Materials'.

When Mr Waverly had received the call from his old friend, he'd had no reason to believe it was anything other than a plea for help. However, he hadn't survived as long as he had by taking things at face value. His top team had been summoned immediately and a plan formulated. It was decided that Illya would accompany Waverly to the meeting in the guise of bodyguard. The Old Man himself was given a set of cufflinks, with of which could be used as a distress beacon. If the beacon was activated, Napoleon would spring into action.

"Good morning, Miss . . .?"

"Treadwell," the young woman supplied, giggling under the charm he exuded. "Trudie."

"Well, Miss Trudie Treadwell," Napoleon continued. "I don't have an appointment, but I do have a tempting offer for Mr Locke. Do you think he'll see me?"

"Let me call his secretary."

A short while later, Napoleon found himself in Jacob Locke's office. Miss Richards invited him to make himself comfortable while she went to locate the man in question. As soon as she left him alone, Solo instantly began a search of the office. He found Illya's special almost instantly. Tucking it into his pocket, Napoleon sat down to await Locke.

Upon arrival at his office, Jacob had forced himself to appear normal, and stepped through the door.

"Mr Singleton, would it be possible to schedule an appointment for another time? I'm rather busy at the moment."

In one sleek movement, Napoleon was on his feet with his gun drawn. Jacob stepped backwards in shock and, tripping over his feet, he landed heavily on his backside. Napoleon was suddenly looming over him, his gun aimed squarely at Jacob's head.

"I'm afraid I will be unable to return at a later time," he stated. "Where are Alexander Waverly and Illya Kuryakin?"

"I can't tell you," Locke told him, with fear radiating. "They'll kill my family."

Solo eased his stance slightly. The older man's entire body language proved the truth of the words.

"Where are your family being held?"

"They are at my home. If I don't do as they ask my wife and son will be killed."

Napoleon pulled out his communicator and contacted HQ. He gave an order for four agents to be dispatched to the home of Jacob Locke to rescue his family.

"You are one of Alexander's people?" Locke asked.

"Yes," Solo replied. "Now, your wife and son will soon be safe, so please tell me where I can find my boss and partner."

…

In the basement, Marton had decided on a change of occupant for the secure chair. Illya had provided him with the details of all the secret entrances to U.N.C.L.E. With each revelation, he felt more and more wretched. He knew he could do nothing to stop what was happening, but revealing secrets in front of his boss had him convinced he would be seeing Moscow again very soon. For now though, all he could see was the syringe being held up in front of his face.

"I'm sorry to have to do this, Mr Kuryakin," Marton said, as he pushed Illya's sleeve back. "But, I can't be doing with you causing any trouble. Don't worry though, it will only send you into a blissful sleep."

With that, he plunged the needle into the Russian's arm, who immediately slipped into unconsciousness. As he was drifting away, chaos exploded around him.

The guard, who had been standing outside the basement, fell through the doors with a sleep dart in his neck. The two inside, swung around with their rifles but weren't quick enough to prevent being taken down themselves. Napoleon stepped in and indicated for Marton to raise his hands. Instead, Victor held his hands out in a conciliatory gesture, and took a couple of steps towards Solo.

"Get back," Napoleon warned.

With a flick of his wrist, Marton shot a concealed stiletto dagger from his sleeve. Napoleon moved out of the way just in time, but it bought Marton the opportunity to shove the agent out of the way and make his escape. Napoleon swiftly recovered himself and darted after the THRUSH man. Unfortunately, there was no sign of him in the maze of rooms and corridors beyond.

"I'm sorry Sir, but I lost him," Napoleon announced as he returned to the room holding Waverly and Illya.

"No matter, Mr Solo," Mr Waverly reassured the CEA. "We can worry about Victor later. Right now, we have a lot of damage limitation to conduct."

…..

"How can you ever forgive me, Alexander?" Jacob asked.

Mr Waverly was sitting in one of the chairs in Locke's office, while Illya slept in the other. Napoleon was at the desk, on the phone to HQ to get the security beefed up around all the entrances.

"Please do not fret, Jacob," Waverly stated softly. "You have no blame in any of this. The main thing is, your family is safe. Although, I would advise you take some time away, just in case THRUSH decide to retaliate."

Locke warmly shook his friends had in thanks.

"Nyet!" Illya yelled as he jerked awake.

Looking around wildly, it didn't take him long to assess the situation. He jumped to his feet, albeit shakily.

"Please sit down, Mr Kuryakin, you've had a trying day."

Illya didn't argue. Sitting down again he tried to fight back the guilt he felt at failing to protect his charge. Waverly carefully studied the man and could see the internal battle.

"You also have no blame in what occurred here, Mr Kuryakin," he told the young agent. "Even the best can have bad day."

At the desk, Napoleon hung up the phone. Standing up, he reported that revised security plans were under way, but Mr Waverly needed to return to sign them off.

"Indeed," agreed the Old Man rising to his feet. "May I have a word, Mr Solo."

Waverly drew Napoleon to one side, and briefly explained the personal information Illya had revealed.

"When were sure we've done what we can at headquarters, maybe you take him out for a drink," he suggested.

"I'll get him to talk it out tonight," Napoleon replied. "Don't worry, Sir. Illya is resilient."

He looked across to his partner, who had fallen asleep again.

The end.

 _*Gogoliv was once an ancient Cossack town near Kiev._ _After the destruction of the Russian Empire, Civil War for Democracy in 1917-1923, and the emergence of modern Ukrainian Republic (as part of USSR) Gogoliv lost its status as a town and became a village._


End file.
